


i can be good (if you just wanna be bad)

by nishtabel



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: M/M, Nipple Piercings, Nipple Play, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:21:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24971470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nishtabel/pseuds/nishtabel
Summary: “Are you touching them?”“What?” Dimitri asks, breath caught in his throat.“Your piercings,” Sylvain says. “Have you touched them yet?”“Well, no, you said—”“Touch them for me,” murmurs Sylvain, voice thick. “Tell me how they feel.”In which Sylvain pierces Dimitri’s nipples, and Dimitri tries to be good.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 16
Kudos: 197





	i can be good (if you just wanna be bad)

**Author's Note:**

> this is based entirely on [BJ’s](twitter.com/pitfallers) [tweet](https://twitter.com/pitfallers/status/1276754711106908161?s=21), which ran me ragged until i could sit down to write the idea. this one’s for you ;)

Dimitri doesn’t mean to send the picture, but he’s three beers in, a fourth in his hand, and he and Sylvain are kind of on a first-name basis, aren’t they?

The picture says _delivered_ before Dimitri can second-guess himself, and he’s content to forget about it until his inevitable four a.m. panic, but—Sylvain texts him back within moments, sly and cute and, unfortunately, professional.

_how do they feel?_

_Fine_ , replies Dimitri, thumbs only fumbling a little over the keyboard. _I’ve been washing them regularly. No more bleeding or crusting in the last week. Do they look okay?_

Sylvain replies immediately. _“okay” might be an understatement. i think i outdid myself ;)_

 _I wouldn’t know from experience_ , says Dimitri, _but I am happy with the result_.

 _they look good on you_ , says Sylvain. _have you been touching them?_

_You told me not to._

_it’s been two months. aren’t you tempted?_

And—oh, he is. Even his loosest shirts are too tight, the fluttering of fabric tugging at the barbells that pierce his nipples. Sylvain had warned them they would be sensitive—“You never realize how often you touch your nipples until you get them pierced,” he’d said—but Dimitri had never thought much about them until he’d seen Sylvain with his own nipples pierced.

Dimitri finishes his fourth beer and types, _A little._

For a moment, he’s worried he’s said the wrong thing; Sylvain’s read the text, but he isn’t typing, and Dimitri feels the seconds slip by with growing anxiety.

He jumps when his phone rings.

“Sylvain?” he answers, concerned. “Is everything alright?”

He hears Sylvain hum on the other end, distant. “More than alright, buddy,” Sylvain says after a long moment of silence. “Just wanted to check in. Those piercings look really good on you.”

Is it Dimitri’s imagination, or is Sylvain breathing faster? A little deeper, a little shorter? “Thanks,” he says, shyly. “Like you said, I think—you did well.”

“Of course I did.” There’s a jostle across the line, a hum of static as Sylvain shifts. He sounds like he’s in bed, the crinkle of sheets and the sleepy lull of his voice.

“Did I wake you up?”

Sylvain laughs, breathier than usual. “No, Dimitri,” he says, and there it is again—that low hum, soft and deep where it floats over the line. A beat of silence, and then: “Are you touching them?”

“What?” Dimitri asks, breath caught in his throat.

“Your piercings,” Sylvain says. “Have you touched them yet?”

“Well, no, you said—”

“Touch them for me,” murmurs Sylvain, voice thick. “Tell me how they feel.”

“I—” Dimitri shivers. He’s sure Sylvain is just being nice, just checking up on his work. And Dimitri’s been _good_ , hasn’t he, soaking and cleaning them every day? He’s hardly touched them but to dry them off, always with a paper towel, always as gently as possible, and—hasn’t he been good? “Alright,” he says, and leans back against the couch.

He’s not wearing a shirt, nipples still too sensitive to suffer even the softest of cotton, so it’s _easy_ to do as Sylvain commands. Slowly, carefully, he lifts his left hand to his chest, fingers tentative where they trace down his sternum. Even with Sylvain’s order—his _professional_ order—Dimitri’s mind is full his fear of contamination and infection, of piercing rejection, of that same incessant _bleeding_ —

The first touch is electric. He’s careful not to move the barbell from where it sits, but even so, the pressure of his thumb against the hardened bud of his nipple is undeniable.

“How does it feel?” asks Sylvain.

“I,” stutters Dimitri, mouth hung open like a fish’s. “I had no idea it would—would feel like this.”

“Don’t be too rough with it,” Sylvain says, “but it feels good, right? Bet you can feel it all through your body.”

Dimitri hisses, fingers grazing his nipple in timed strokes. He can’t touch it for too long, can’t put too much pressure on it, but even with these soft, fluttering touches, he can already feel his body begin to flush. “Fuck,” he murmurs, trying to keep his voice low. “Is this—are you sure this is okay? I don’t want to”—a gasp, a half-stifled groan—“to ruin your work.”

Sylvain shifts again, and now Dimitri is sure he’s in bed, phone crackling against the pillow. “Dimitri,” Sylvain says, voice almost—almost reverent, almost _warning_. “You’d have to do a lot more than that to ruin my work.”

Dimitri exhales on a shaky breath, oddly assuaged. “Good,” he says, unable to keep himself from sounding like a fool. “I’m glad.”

“Have you only touched the one?”

Dimitri swallows. “Yeah. Yes.”

“Touch the other one.”

“I—okay.” Dimitri shifts against the couch, securing the phone between his cheek and shoulder before trailing his right hand down the length of his chest. He shouldn’t be this nervous, but he _is_ , not just because of the cleanliness, but because—

A groan escapes his mouth, loud and long, as his right thumb brushes the peak of his nipple. He hasn’t moved his left hand, still stroking idly at the left piercing; the sensation of them together, being touched at the same time, is nearly overwhelming.

“Sounds like you’re healing well,” says Sylvain, coarser. There’s a lilt to his voice, dangerous where it needles at Dimitri’s self-control. “You still have full sensation?”

“Yes,” Dimitri says, half-choked. He forces himself to breathe through his nose. “Yes, sensation in—in both. Both nipples.”

“Good boy.”

Dimitri’s body sings with the praise, already so overwhelmed by the stimulation at his nipples that he feels himself arch from the couch with a gasp. His cock is half-hard between his legs, traitorous where it swells against the groin of his shorts.

“You know, a lot of people are surprised at how sensitive their nipples are,” Sylvain says, conversational. Aside from the creasing of his sheets, the minor hitch in his breath, he sounds wholly unaware of Dimitri’s predicament. “After getting them pierced, I mean. I have to admit, I was surprised you said yes.”

Dimitri slips a hand further down his chest, fingers resting dangerously close to the waistband of his athletic shorts. “You said you needed practice,” Dimitri replies, thankful that he manages to speak at all. “I… It can be hard to say no. To you.”

“Oh, I know.” Dimitri imagines Sylvain waving his hand, a flippant gesture. “You’re not the only one who feels that way.”

And— _oh_ , that’s a kernel of jealousy that Dimitri decidedly wants nothing to do with. Instead, he teases at the elastic of his shorts, fingers slipping in just enough to graze the base of his dick. He swallows down a groan and says, “I can’t imagine I am.”

There’s a chuckle and a snort, followed by a sigh over the line. “You might be the first to be so _eager_ , though.”

Dimitri’s hand stills for a brief moment, the thick shaft of his cock now pressing insistently against his palm. “I—”

“Sending me a picture like that,” Sylvain says, with a playful _tsk_. “What’s a guy to think?”

The flush from Dimitri’s face bleeds to his ears and his throat. “I thought you might want to see how they were—were healing,” he offers. His hand is moving again, slowly, curving his cock up to settle outside his waistband and against his belly. He’s leaking, now, shiny beads of precome that drip from the head of his cock to the fluttering muscles of his stomach.

Sylvain laughs. “I’m not saying you were wrong,” he says. “Just eager.”

The rough drag of Sylvain’s voice settles in Dimitri’s groin, curling tight around the arousal that already builds there. Dimitri knows Sylvain is just teasing him, but it’s too much, the rumble of his words like a physical thing. He strokes his cock faster, shorts shoved halfway down his hips as he throws his head back and bites his lip against the whine that rises in the back of his throat.

“I’m surprised you hadn’t touched them, even out of curiosity,” Sylvain says, talking like they’re not _doing_ this, like Dimitri hadn’t sent him a picture of his naked body at two a.m., like Dimitri isn’t fucking his fist to the sound of Sylvain’s voice and the thought of Sylvain’s tattooed fingers on his chest. “Most people do. I did, at least.” A quiet laugh, nearing breathless. “I should have guessed, though. I think you’d do just about anything to be _good_.”

Sylvain’s emphasis sends Dimitri’s reeling, the hand on his nipple trying hard not to tweak at the swollen peak of it. Dimitri feels his orgasm build in his gut, in his thighs, in the twitch of his shoulders and the wild gasping of his mouth. He feels it build, and he strokes himself faster, thumb slicking precome from the head as he thinks of Sylvain’s hands on him, of that devilish split tongue against his cock.

Dimitri’s not quiet, he can’t be, but he _tries_ , writhing against the couch as his back arches taut and his legs spread wide. He has a half-second of warning become he comes, eyes shuttered as he strokes himself through it, left hand falling from his nipple when it becomes too much.

He catches his breath as quickly as he can, breathing hard through his nose in an attempt to stifle the wild fluttering of his heartbeat. He opens his mouth to speak once, twice, before finally rasping, “I was just following directions.”

When Sylvain replies, his own voice is cracked. “You’re very good at that,” he says, and Dimitri can hear the grin in his voice. “Just remember to clean up, alright?”

Dimitri jerks, grabbing at his phone where it threatens to slide from his shoulder. “What?”

“Your nipples,” Sylvain clarifies. “Make sure you wash them before you go to bed tonight.”

“Right. Right, of course,” Dimitri says, heartbeat in his ears. “I will.”

“Good boy,” says Sylvain, and hangs up.

**Author's Note:**

> i have a [twitter](twitter.com/nishtabel).


End file.
